The woman's name was Dorian, but she called herself Taiisha.

She had chosen the name for herself, a long, long time ago.  In fact, she doubted there was anyone left alive who knew her as Dorian.

She sat calmly in a kitchen she didn't belong in, and drank coffee that she didn't like, and watched the sun rise.  She wore a well-fitting ash-blond wig to cover her dark locks, and a forgettable navy blue shirt and jeans.  Taiisha was attractive, in a vague way.  Her face was a malleable oval mask--if she wore glasses, people would remember the glasses and little else.  A face with Italian, maybe Middle Eastern, maybe Hispanic ancestry, nothing more.  If she wore a push-up bra, many men wouldn't be able to confirm that she had a face at all.  It was convenient. Her eyes were gray, and annoyingly memorable; she covered them with sunglasses or contacts when she could.

The dawn lit her calm, emotionless face beatifically, golden light framing her artificially pale hair like a halo.  But she wasn't a saint, either.

The kitchen was recently remodeled, with a handsome marble-topped island and a trendy stainless steel range and stove opposite the sink.  Cabinets, floor, and breakfast bar stools were all pale oak, varnished to an elegant sheen.  Neat white mugs hung cheerfully over the sink, and a small forest of expensive white appliances huddled on the counter.  The only things out of place were the cheap Styrofoam cup Taiisha was sipping from, and the kitchen's owner, who lay crumpled like a kicked floormat at Taiisha's feet.  The woman was thirtysomething, with honey-blonde hair and a fluffy pink Victoria's Secret terrycloth robe.  Some of the blood that had come out of her neck had stained it.

Taiisha felt nothing for the corpse at her feet, or for that of the corpse's husband, upstairs and equally dead.  Taiisha's conscience, if it existed, had left her free to enjoy the sunrise this morning, because the only thing she'd killed today was the golden retriever which was currently stuffed under the back porch.  The need for this had been purely personal.  This one had approached without barking, tail wagging, yet she never considered letting it live.  Dogs frightened her.  She doubted there was anyone alive who knew this, either.

The killer was in the basement.  She'd be up shortly, if the rapid banging sounds coming from down there were any indication.

The dawn turned Taiisha's gray eyes to yellow-gold.  She sipped her coffee and smiled.